


A matter of choice

by emocsibe



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Collection, Engagement, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-18 02:11:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emocsibe/pseuds/emocsibe
Summary: A SpiritChevalier collection composed of drabbles and scenes of the life, hardships and love of one demon and his chevalier.





	1. Restart - Modern AU.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SheenaWilde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheenaWilde/gifts).



> Michel can't help but notice things about Imshael and the world around them - and how some of them fit together.

 

He has absolutely no intent to buy anything on that afternoon, he only wants to get home, kick his shoes as far as the opposite wall will let him, and curl up on the couch, preferably with a mug of hot tea in his hands. And, well, knowing the man he shares his house with, do the dishes since there is no magic and the dishes won’t clean themselves. What a joy that would be. And yet, four o’clock finds Michel in a small lamp shop – one he passed just two minutes ago and drifted back to after realising what had caught his attention. It is a small lamp, one that fits onto a shelf very nicely, placed between the thick books of their favourite poets and authors. And one that has a captivating green light which reminds Michel of magic, of a place he could not and would not forget, and of a person who he will love until the end of his existence. Imshael has green eyes, and they are not the most beautiful Michel has seen, or the greenest, no; but he knows these eyes, he knows the emotions in their depths and he loves it when he can look into them and feel safe. There was a time when staring into Imshael’s face for a time long enough to get what colour his eyes were equalled to staring into his own defeat and demise. Nowadays it means a staring contest between stubborn lovers or a lazy afternoon spent in bed, but not a fight – not a physical one – and most importantly, not death. He wonders how his enemy-turned-lover is going to react to the small gift as he trudges home, wrapped box in hand and a bright smile on his face.

When he gets home he does the dishes and makes a pot of tea, without sugar as Imshael likes it, only sweetening his own portion in his favourite mug – courtesy of his lover, stating that he is a ‘chevalier of annoyance’. Michel couldn’t help but laugh when he first saw it on a cold and snowy Christmas eve spent with his lover in a new world, in a new life, in peace. He remembers how they developed their treasured and mutual respect and trust, and how they kissed in Michel’s door for the first time in their new life, now as lovers and not as enemies making out. It was actually fun – muses Michel as he sips his warm drink, sitting on the couch with Byron’s Selected on his lap – leaving the snow, the enmity, and the glared and real daggers behind, and get to the fun part of their relationship. He remembers wounds and bruises inflicted upon each other as they fought, and deeper gashes and bites as they fucked, and he wants to forget. It was what he deserved in that life, and he got it. The demon-spirit-whatever also got his fair share of punishment coming. The Inquisitor and his companions dragged Imshael’s ass through his whole fortress and sent him to Maker knows where the spirits – demons – go once they are dead. Or sort of dead. If they can be killed at all, well, permanently. He remembers mourning after the initial numbness, mourning in silence, sitting in the garden and trying to chase away the memory of those green eyes, those flickers of the Fade.

The keys’ rattling breaks him out of his memories and bring an instant smile to his frowning lips. He doesn’t jump up as he did after the first few times, no. Imshael will take his time getting out of his coat – feathers again, feathers around his neck just like in the nice murder-y old times – and his boots, shirt and undershirt. Imshael can say whatever he wants but Michel knows he loves the higher temperature and the chance to go around half-naked all the time while home. Also, he can’t say he objects to seeing his lover’s muscles, because damn. Imshael has some traits that shout ‘I used to be a desire demon’ from twenty feet away. Michel raises his mug as Imshael enters, and when seconds later he feels a mouth on his forehead, he closes his eyes and hums a quiet ‘welcome home’. Imshael gives him a kiss and says nothing. He always kisses him in greeting – and Michel loves it.  

“Bought you something” he says, and Imshael puts Byron away and sits on his chevalier’s lap, slowly leaning into his embrace, laying his head on Michel’s chest.

“Bad day?” Michel asks, although he already knows the answer. Here Imshael is no demon, no spirit, and thus, he has to work. He loathes it, but he hates the idea of letting Michel do anything more. Imshael goes to work on each weekday and comes home either in high spirits because of the nice people, or as a human wreck because of the assholes. Today is the latter it seems, that – as usually – results in a lapful of exhausted ex-demon. He draws Imshael closer and kisses a shoulder, then his head, and caresses his back.

“Absolutely. The worst. What do you have for me? A sword?”

It is a passing joke between them, getting swords and fighting as in the old times, but neither of them want to raise any blades nowadays if they are not meant for cutting things in the kitchen.

“The Fade.”

Imshael sits up abruptly and stares at Michel, and a strange unbelieving look nestles itself in his eyes – but in the same time, he starts smirking. Michel knows that smile and expects the kiss that follows it, and returns it with all the love he feels towards this Maker damned man. When they separate and Imshael opens his eyes and his gaze meets with Michel’s, the chevalier of old strokes a finger along his lover’s face.

“It kind of has the same colour as your lovely eyes” he says and he means it. Once Imshael said that Michel’s eyes reminded him of Emprise du Lion, but didn’t fail to add that they warmed his heart as if opposed to their resemblance to the frozen landscape. Michel kissed him breathless then. Imshael has his trademark smile on his face as he buries his face in Michel’s shoulder, and Michel first sees then feels it against his skin.

“Let’s get up, love, shall we?”

And then Imshael puffs out a breath and rolls between Michel and the couch and promptly pushes his lover off of it. Michel rolls off then yelps as he meets their rug – it is green, just like anything else that was chosen by Imshael – and sighs a bit after he gets up.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.”

“I don’t” Michel shakes his head but smiles and grabs his present. When he hands it over, he runs his fingers through Imshael’s hair and turns his head so they stare at each other “but I do love you.”


	2. Restart II - Modern AU.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a choice Michel has to make.

“Are you sure about this? I don’t think it looks that good – by the way, why is this really necessary? I have just enough shirts I can put on.”

Michel’s voice is toned down so only Imshael can hear him, standing only a step behind his back. Imsheal shakes his head and smooths down a hand on the fine fabric covering Michel’s torso, wondering how dumb his boyfriend could truly be when it comes to picking out new clothes. This is no Thedas, no medieval times, so he can’t fathom how shopping and deciding on the perfect – truly, horribly perfect – pieces can be so hard for him.

“In the past, a certain chevalier was way better of making decisions, even those that could break an ordinary person – of course only if memory serves me right…”

Michel’s face turns sour at that, and with a snarl he spits out his words – they are silent but they have edges that could cut deeper than his once favoured swords.

“The decision of having you killed? That decision was hard to make, as if you didn’t know this well enough!” He shakes his head as he tries to regain his calm attitude, and ignores how Imshael slides close behind him and how his arms wrap around him steadily but lightly. “I made a choice. You should be proud.”

“Oh, trust me, darling, I am. Although I wonder if you regretted it or not – it is, however, of little significance now. I am more interested in your opinion on which colour you’d choose? The beige looks quite good but you can’t ignore how well mint green goes with your eyes.”

“How in the Maker’s… How can you switch so quickly between an important topic and this one?” Michel makes a vague gesture towards the shirt he is wearing - and at the mirror they are facing - while trying to look as angry as he could only muster. He knows that this is a sort of important thing to do, too, but discussing how he had abandoned his lover in that almost foreign, past life is something he could never truly let go of. Because it was what he did: abandonment. The worst thing is that he still feels that icy pang in his chest whenever he remembers and he can’t believe that Imshael doesn’t care about it. He almost treats it as if it wasn’t something horrible, as if it wasn’t his own death that they are discussing.

“Because Michel de Chevin, that was in the past, in a lifetime we have no proof we actually lived through, and I’m not dead as of present, so I care not about how another Michel left another Imshael die – I care, however, about marrying you, and I want it to be perfect.”

“It might have been another… Wait. Wait, wait, wait, did you say marriage?” Michel’s eyes open wide as he turns in Imshael’s embrace, only to find himself face to face with his smirking boyfriend who doesn’t hesitate to kiss him as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

“Only if you’re interested, love. I wanted to ask later, but I can’t stand you beating yourself up because of a long past decision. I want to present you another, a much more pleasant, one. Choose Michel de Chevin, will you marry me or not?”

“Truly a spirit of choice, were you?” Michel now smiles, bright and soft, and he kisses Imshael just for a moment before resting their foreheads together “Yes, I will.”

“Finally you get the difference, darling. Figures I’m no longer a spirit of anything.”

“How lucky I am, am I not? No one is out there to kill you for threatening a whole town. You are all mine and safe and real.”

“And now your fiancé, too. Don’t leave out the best part” Imshael laughs and Michel can’t help but thank the Maker for finally letting him have his happiness with his chosen one at his side. 


End file.
